Heroes & Martyrs
by The Counter-Point Man
Summary: As the Grand Army of the Republic retreats from a lost planet, a company of Clone Troopers find themselves in an increasingly desperate situation. With no other alternative in sight, will their mission be an absolute failure, or a textbook suicide?
1. Chapter 1

(**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** First and foremost, I do not own anything pertaining to the Star Wars universe, nor do I pretend to. To be completely and frankly honest with you, dear readers, I am no fan of Star Wars. Not to say I hate it, but quite honestly, I'm just not a fan, in stark comparison to the majority of other writers in this specific forum. Don't take it as a personal offense - it's just not my shtick.

The question may begin to persist in the back of your minds: If the writer himself is not a fan of the universe itself, why should he bother writing in it at all?

My answer is simple: Just 'cause.

I have experimented in my considerably dried out roleplaying skills on this site, and had originally written this story as the basis for a roleplay. Due to lack of participants and general patience, the roleplay fell through and was never created. However, as you can clearly see, the idea lives on.

Duty, honor, and courage are virtues that adhere to the hearts of all men, whether they are artificial or not. This is a story about a band of men, brothers in their own terms, which stand united in a cause. Just like the Jedi, there were heroes in the faceless ranks of the Grand Clone Army of the Republic, men who were simply grown to answer their call of duty, thrown into the heat of battle without any other thought. This story is about the 407th Airborne Company of the famous 501st Legion, in the waning days of the retreat from Elrood during the Clone Wars. In a way, it's a tribute to to the voice of men drowned out by the songs of the victors built over them, the minority of the losses cut from the history of the Fall of the Republic and Rise of the Empire. Enjoy.

**Heroes & Martyrs**

**by**

**Point Counterpoint**

* * *

_**"Keep up the suppressing fire! Defend the-"**_

Those were the last words of Jedi Knight Svendu Voron. A second later, half of his face disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood and tissue. A man who had fought and bled for the Republic since the beginning of the war - from the first stages of the Battle of Geonosis to the defense of the Elrooden city limits nearly a year afterward - a man who, by normal standards, should have died on a hundred and three separate occasions; this same man became, at long last, another tragic statistic of the war.

Somewhere outside, a thermal detonator exploded into a storm of shrapnel, shaking the whole building by its foundations.

At first, 2nd Lieutenant Rho-42/38-2220 (known by the troopers under his command as 'Rand') did not react to the Jedi's collapse. With his back pressed against the edge of a window, he had his entire attention focused on his DC-15S blaster carbine, spattering bursts of bright blue tibanna gas fire at the enemies outside. The violent recoil of the weapon sent vibrations deep into his bones. Even as the chamber clicked empty, his massive frame continued to tremble.

Rand reached shakily for another clip, casting a wary eye over his men.

It was then that he saw Svendu, sprawled out on the floor. The Jedi's face was no longer recognizable, but his stylized electrum lightsaber still glimmered proudly encroached in his stiff fingers. Twenty four battles had done nothing to tarnish the symbolic weapon of the Jedi Order laying upon his blood encrusted palm.

Rand felt all the fiery energy drain from his body, leaving him nothing but flabby muscles to keep him standing. The clip of ammunition in his hands fell to the floor with a dull clatter.

_"Commander . . ."_ His words were slow and confused, drowned out in the thunderstorm of battle. With a sense of disbelief, he stepped away from the window and knelt beside his old friend. Even in death, spread with arms wide on the dusty floor, Svendu retained his commanding honor and glory. Rand found himself strengthened simply by gazing at his leader.

"You have earned your peace," he whispered. Very gingerly - oblivious to cries of pain and the angry rattling of guns all around him - Rand removed the lightsaber from Svendu's rigor ridden hand and placed it securely in his own utility belt. Somehow, it would get back to those who held him as their kin.

That much, he promised himself.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and please, review. There will be far more to come, but how soon that will be is all up to you, dear readers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Private Upsilon-38/69-4207 watched** the somber exchange between his two commanding officers, one dead in flesh and the other dead in spirit. He himself was incapable of any outright emotion anymore. Adrenaline flushed out the grief from his heart and replaced it with pulsing anger. Cupping both hands around his mouth, he shouted across the room.

"Lieutenant_,_ get down!"

A hail of deafening blaster bolts smashed into the wall beside the Trooper's head, spraying shreds of metallic casing and flimsy wallpaper in his face. He took to the ground, covering his head with both arms, shaking as the staccato of fire swept the area. His ears were filled with the clanging of lasers on metal, exploding vases and pottery, and the splintering cracks of wood and stone being shattered. Tapestries and paintings crashed to the floor, forming a pile of dust and debris. In the corner of the room, an ancient case of _'Outer Rim Antiquities'_ rippled in its frame, hundreds of tiny items and curios pouring from its new holes like blood from a fresh wound.

When he at last found the strength to look up, he saw Ran lying prone by an overturned table, very much alive. A moment of weakness and vulnerability had seized the Lieutenant, but now the cunning savageness of war had reassumed possession of him. The officer twisted his head towards Upsilon-38 and nodded, affirmatively. Confidently. Reassuringly.

"We can't stay here!" Rand called for the other five men now under his command. "Vole! Sounder! Cover this window!"

On his hands and knees, he crept over to Upsilon. "Private, you and I will exit first through the rear of the building. There's a temple two streets down from the edge of the city, with a subspace transceiver in the basement. We've got to find out where the rest of the division has taken up their defenses."

"What about our orders? We were to defend this post-"

"To hell with that," Rand said angrily. "Pick up your weapon."

The Trooper insisted. "But Lieutenant, the 407th have never disobeyed-"

Another ferocious bombardment of blaster fire broke him off in midsentence. A chorus of Confderate Droid rifles and carbines raked the room. One caught Corporal Sounder in the neck, and the Clone went down in a fountain of blood. Lieutenant Rand immediately dragged himself over to the fallen trooper, only to arrive in time to hear a final breath escape Sounder's lips through his battered and blood-spattered white helmet.

With a sudden cry of fury, Rand sprang up over the edge of the flimsy wooden nightstand and unleashed an entire clip into the smoky courtyard outside. His stoic, soot-darkened helmet lit up under the flash of the carbine's muzzle, his eyes determined and enraged underneath. Torso shaking, he held down the trigger without pause. After a seemingly endless round of fire, there came a loud click.

Panting, he dropped back for cover and snapped in fresh rounds. He crawled to Sounder's corpse. There was no shame in rummaging for spare ammunition.

"If they throw a grenade, we're done for!" Vole shouted.

"Then let's not waste any more time," Rand answered. "Upsilon, change of plans. Stay with Vole and provide suppressing fire. I'll take the other three and head for the temple."

Upsilon no longer saw the point in arguing. "Yes, Lieutenant."

"Twenty seconds, and you come after us," His commanding officer instructed. He paused, then repeated, "Twenty seconds, do you hear me? No longer."

"Yes sir_, _just get moving," The Trooper urged.

Taking up a spot near the windows with Vole, Private Upsilon-38 watched as his Clone companions hustled out of the room, each one tossing him one final look of thankfulness.

He had fought with all of these men for the better half of a year now, against the against the Droids, against the Sith, against the Neimodians, against the Muun. He was still the new guy, the replacement, yet to earn a rightful nickname or callsign to his brothers in arms, these Clone Paratroopers. Yet, in every harrowing encounter they had been through, never once had the group been forced to split apart. They had kept guard over one another like the brothers they were, if only artificially. Never would they have imagined that it would be like this.

"We'll see you soon," Vole said to them, grimly.

Without further hesitation, both soldiers focused their concentration on the enemy outside. If Rand and the others were to escape out the back, those damned Clankers had to be committed elsewhere.

From either side of the fragmented window, they swung out their DC-15A blaster rifles and let loose thirty-five rounds a piece. Each burst of five or six was spaced out to buy the most time. The chances of making any contact with such blind spraying were slim, but the point was diversion, not destruction.

"Grenade on three," Vole hissed, when their clips had run dry.

Both Troopers simultaneously removed their last stick grenades and triggered the fuses. Nodding three times in beat, they swung into view of the window and launched their thermal detonators out into the field. At the same time, a stray blaster bolt clipped Vole's shoulder. He fell back cursing in what little Mando'a he had picked up from his superior Clones. _"Haar'chuk! Utreekov skanah shupur'yc!_"

In the gutted courtyard, the thermal detonators detonated with resonating booms, and clouds of black soil ballooned ten feet in the air. A monotonous cry and a mixture of machinery being smashed into oblivion, a sound quite soothing to the wounded Vole.

"How bad?" Upsilon asked, though it was more of a demand.

Shrugging with a wince, Vole hoisted his blaster rifle and scoffed, "It's just a scratch. Let's go."

Moving as one, they crossed the rubble of the dilapidated room. They had just barely reached the door when several dull thuds echoed off the floorboards behind them.

There was no need to pause for a visual. Both Troopers dove headfirst into the tiny hallway, scrambling around the corner as the Clanker grenades unleashed a hellish blast. The walls saved the two Clones from any direct shrapnel but provided little protection for crumpling beams. A portion of the roof caved in behind Upsilon; his head escaped flattening by less than a foot.

Ears still ringing from shellshock, eyes stinging within the cloud of dust around him through the lenses of his cracked visor, Upsilon staggered to his feet and grabbed at his brother. He helped Vole get up, grimacing in pain at a sudden agony in his right knee. They hobbled down the hall, choking on the smoky air. When they reached the back door, they stopped on the inside fringes and gazed out uncertainly.

Upsilon stared at Vole, who met his gaze with a wry cock of his head.

Wordlessly, the two Clone Troopers stumbled into the fresh, early summer air of the Elrooden Bazaar.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and please review to detail. I enjoy hearing constructive criticism.


End file.
